“Is that it?” she said, her voice a little strained. “Is it over?”
Almost, he wanted to say. Instead, he ground out, “I’m going to pull back and push in again.”
Her hands tightened on his arms. “You have to start again? I did something wrong.”
Her mother’s lessons must not have been as comprehensive as Henrietta had said.
“You did nothing wrong. No. It’s part of the . . . it’s normal.”
“I see.”
He eased himself backwards, her sultry tightness pulling at him, squeezing him. At the very end of his stroke, he felt the tingle in his spine and quickly thrust into her again, sheathing himself completely and . . . Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh. My. God.He exploded into her. Rapture. Bliss. He saw stars in the dark room.
When he regained any semblance of reason, he was still lodged in her, suspended over her, panting, covered in a sheen of sweat, her hands on his upper arms.
He drew in a deep breath. “It’s over now.” He felt some of his seed spilling out as he withdrew his member. Her hands fell away, and he moved to her side on his knees.
“Are you all right?” he asked, cringing in the dark, preparing himself for her anger, her tears, her disappointment.
“Yes. Thank you, Oliver. Thank you.”
She was thanking him, he supposed, for the child she might conceive. It couldn’t be because she had enjoyed any part of that. Best he depart now.
“I’ll let you sleep.” He moved to get out of the bed.
“No,” she yelped and in the dark, a strong grip latched onto his forearm. “I mean . . . aren’t you going to sleep here? Please?”
He’d never slept in the same bed as someone else, except as a child when he had gone to his nurse’s bed with a nightmare. Violet hadn’t wanted anything to do with him before, during, or after coition, and Emily had never invited him to sleep with her. Even if she had, Emily was so frail, he would have feared injuring her.
“I might roll over in my sleep and hurt you.”
Henrietta laughed. “You couldn’t hurt me.”
That was true. She was beautifully strong and solid. Lovely, well, and alive.
Suddenly, desperately, he wanted to do something for her. He wanted to care for the woman who cared for everyone around her.
“Let me get a cloth for you to clean yourself.”
“All right.”
He could see the outlines of the table where her basin and pitcher sat. He felt around the table and came up with two cloths. He dampened them and cleaned himself with one and brought the other one back to the bed.
“Here.”
She fumbled and found the wet cloth in his hand and took it. “Wiping away the seed won’t interfere?”
Again, her mother’s lessons hadn’t taught her everything. “No. There’s plenty deep inside you.”
There was some movement and rustling and she handed the cloth back to him.
“You will come back to bed with me, won’t you?”
“Yes.” He took the cloth to the basin and went back to the bed and slid in next to her. Suddenly, he felt her hand holding his.
“Thank you, Oliver.”
He lay awake for several hours while she slept. He got hard again with the thought of her naked body next to his, just inches away. But eventually he drifted off, her hand still in his.
